Puzzle Pieces
by StrayxMonarch
Summary: A collection of Jeller drabbles and fics which I've posted to Tumblr over the years, finally all assembled in one place.
1. The Fire

_As promised, here's the first installment of my collection of older drabbles._

_This fic is completely different in style than anything else I've ever written, which is part of the reason why it's one of my favourites._

_Set sometime in early S2, just after Jane finds out about the pregnancy._

_Hope you enjoy it. _

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It was his fault.

Staring at the burning building, Weller fought not to break apart.

They'd taken Allie because of him. Because of his unborn child. They'd taken Allie and put her in there to punish him.

He'd nearly gone in after her. Would have, if not for the firefighters surrounding him and holding him back.

Too focused on restraining _him_, they'd never even noticed Jane slip around them, darting towards the entrance.

Not until it was too late.

She'd looked back at him on the threshold. Just for a second. And then she'd turned, plunged into the smoke.

And just like that, he'd lost them both.

Reade and Zapata were beside him, hands on his shoulders– a support, but also a warning. They knew what he was thinking.

Knew he didn't want to live if the woman he loved died in there.

The minutes passed by. Seemed like years, almost. The firefighters had finally gone in, battling against the growing blaze, the building falling apart around them.

It looked like hell itself.

And then a firefighter reappeared, half-shielding the ash-covered figure that ran alongside them.

Female. Petite.

Brown hair loose around her shoulders.

_Allie_.

Breaking away from his team, he ran to her, saw the tracks the tears had left down her face.

"Kurt. I'm so sorry," she coughed, and his heart staggered.

Hand gripping his arm, she fought to get the words out, choked by smoke and broken sobs.

"She saved me, Kurt. I was trapped, but she got me free. We were almost out when the floor– the floor started giving way. She was faster– she could have saved herself, but she grabbed me, pushed me onto solid ground. I saw her fall. I'm so sorry, Kurt. I saw her fall."

In that moment, he fell too.

He fell down into the dark hole inside of him, the one he'd barely escaped at ten years old when his whole life had been torn apart. He fell, because if Jane was gone then so was everything he had been, everything he was and ever would be, his world ceasing to exist without its center.

_Jane_.

He never saw them rush Allie to one of the ambulances, never saw Reade draw Zapata back a few steps, grief on both their faces. He only saw the flames. He only saw the space where Jane was not, the space where she had been until he'd let his fear for Allie– for his child– make him blind, never seeing that his worst fear was about to multiply itself far beyond anything he'd ever imagined.

She was gone, because she chose the people she knew were important to him over herself, never knowing that there would never be anyone more important to him than her.

She was… gone.

_Jane was gone._

For a time, he lost his hold on everything. He just stood and watched the building slowly crumble, his life along with it.

And then, over the roar, he heard it.

"Did she make it? Did she get out?"

Hoarse, worried, urgent. _Jane_.

Spinning, he saw her, bleeding and soot-stained, limping closer after having shoved her way through the crowd surrounding the scene.

"Did Allie make it out?" she repeated, the words punctuated with harsh coughs.

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. Distantly, he heard Reade answer for him, saw the relief that flooded her face.

Relief that turned to apprehension as she saw him striding towards her, clearly fearing his anger, the anger she'd received far more often than she'd ever deserved.

Then he reached her, and before another word could pass her lips, he yanked her into his arms, crushing her against him. For a moment she was frozen, all tension and held breath, before she was suddenly gripping him just as tightly, her face burying itself in his shoulder, her breathing just as ragged as his.

And then the medics came for her, and he was forced to let her go– but he didn't go far. He was her shadow, never separated from her by more than a few feet, his eyes never straying from her.

The last time he'd turned from her, he'd lost her.

He stood close while Reade asked all the questions. He almost didn't want to hear the answers. Didn't want to hear how she fell, didn't want to hear how she nearly hadn't been able to climb her way out and escape out the other side of the building.

And he didn't want to hear her say that she'd done it because Allie was too important to lose.

The medics cleaned her up– minor injuries, they said. Except that nothing that had happened here was minor. They told her she'd need x-rays at some point, just to be sure. She pointed out that she knew a break when she felt it; these were bruises, scrapes, nothing more. She was fine.

He didn't point out that he was the broken one.

Soon, the medics were gone. Allie was already at the hospital; the team would head there first, to see her and question her. They all wanted these bastards caught– the fire they'd set in the building wasn't the only one that blazed now.

Now, the fire was inside him, and he would use it to raze every single one of them to the ground.

The drive was quiet. Reade told Jane he was glad she was okay, and Zapata echoed it. Jane thanked them.

He said little. Had he said anything? He wasn't sure. He just watched Jane in the rear-view, watched her stare out the window and wondered if she'd ever expected to make it out of that building alive.

Just another question he didn't want the answer to.

At the hospital, the four of them entered Allie's room together, but her eyes were almost solely for Jane.

That, he understood.

She assured them– assured _him–_ of her health. Of the baby's health. One of the tightly coiled springs within him loosened slightly. She answered their questions as thoroughly as she could, gave them good leads. He felt them closing in on their targets; drawing ever closer to making these people pay.

Breathing deep, he squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, understanding in her eyes.

And then she asked them to leave.

Not all; not Jane.

He nearly didn't go. The last time these two women had been alone together, they had both nearly lost their lives. Both nearly torn from him.

But Allie told him to go.

He paced. Outside the door, close enough to hear their murmured voices but far enough not to hear the words. Zapata and Reade were on the phone, already working through some of their leads with Patterson. Within minutes they were ready to head back to the lab, ready for the next step.

They only had to wait a few moments longer. Jane slipped quietly from the room, her eyes flicking to his and then away. But there was an awareness there, a change, her gaze somehow both a question and an answer.

When Zapata suggested they head back to work, she received only nods.

Twenty minutes later, he walked through the bullpen with tension in his shoulders but eyes only on her. Outside, his eyes had been everywhere, his body trying to simultaneously shield her on all sides. Here, there was nothing to shield her from but the silent stares, the hushed whispers.

They almost died on a regular basis– but to the other agents, it wasn't every day that one of them ran into hell itself and then climbed back out.

Except, in one way or another, that was _exactly_ what Jane did every day.

But they didn't know that. Didn't know the price she paid for them, for their country, day after day, week after week.

Didn't know how much they owed her.

In the corridor outside the lab, she halted him. The others didn't blink; just stepped through the door and gave them space. Like they'd known.

He hadn't; hadn't prepared himself to face her like this. Alone. He didn't know if he had the words for it.

But she did.

"I'm sorry," she told him, and something in him shuddered.

"I'm sorry if I scared you today. But I couldn't– that was your family in there. I couldn't let you lose them."

Inside, he teetered, fell.

"You don't get to do that," he growled fiercely, the words his first since screaming her name into the inferno. "You don't get to decide who I can and can't bear to lose."

He felt the tears burn, felt the sob that wanted to claw from his throat. Jaw hard, he looked away; tried to remember what it was like to breathe without the taste of smoke and fear in his mouth. Wasn't sure he ever would again.

"I know that now," she murmured, then stepped in close, her arms reaching up to curl around his shoulders, her apology as clear in her touch as her words. Palm warm against the back of his neck, she drew him into her, holding him, soothing him.

Pressing his face to her neck, he pulled her close. Needing her.

_Always_ needing her.

"I always come back," she whispered, breath soft against his skin. A reassurance, and a promise. "I'll never stop coming back to you, Kurt."

Air shuddering from his lungs, he gripped her a little tighter. Wanting so much to keep her there, wrapped up in his arms, safe.

But instead he let go, straightened, stepped away.

For now– until the destruction of Sandstorm, until they were free– this was what it had to be.

She would go, would walk the line between good and evil, between death and life; but each time, she would find a way to make it out the other side, find her way back to him.

And each time, he would be waiting for her.

Eyes finding hers, he let her see it, let this be his promise. Then he turned, led the way into the lab, knowing she'd be right behind him, closer than a shadow.

Because whatever had happened in the past– and whatever lay ahead– they were tied to one another, he and Jane.

And they were never letting go.

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_Thanks for reading, and all comments are welcome :)_


	2. Weller vs Roman

_A little late updating this because I just flew across the world and therefore had to contend with jetlag and having no idea what day it was for like 3 days haha. _

_Summary: Weller tries to thank Roman for saving his life in the field. It doesn't go well._

_(This story was written shortly before S2, when we knew Roman would be important to Jane but didn't know their exact connection.)_

_Hope you enjoy it!_

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"Roman. A minute."

Already almost at the door, following close behind Jane— as he always did, her new, ever-present shadow— Roman paused, and Weller didn't miss the way he glanced at Jane, waiting for her small nod before letting the door close behind her and slowly turning around, his expression unreadable.

Arms folded, Weller surveyed him, determinedly ignoring his instinctive dislike of the man that seemed permanently attached to Jane's side.

"I wanted to thank you," he said after a long moment, certain that the words sounded as forced as they felt. "For what you did out there today. You put yourself at risk to save my ass, and that's not the kind of thing I take lightly."

"I did it for Jane, not for you," Roman stated bluntly, his posture military-straight, his hands held stiffly at his sides. His voice sharp with contempt, he went on, "Because for reasons that are completely beyond me, she still cares for you, and I'm not going to let her go through any more pain than she already has."

"You talk like she was the victim in all this," Weller shot back, a mocking bitterness bleeding into his tone. "Clearly, she's already wrapped you around her little finger, which is just what she does."

_That_ got a reaction; instantly, Roman took a swift step closer, his jaw twitching.

"You don't get to talk about her like that," he hissed, eyes flashing. "You threw her to the wolves and let them eat her alive, and even now that she's back and risking her ass for you every damn day, you still treat her like a goddamn criminal on trial." Shaking his head in disgust, Roman lowered his voice. "And yet _still_ she defends you. You don't deserve her."

His anger flaring, Weller scoffed, his voice bitterly sarcastic. "Unlike _you_?"

He knew he'd revealed too much when Roman's expression instantly became sly, his eyes containing just a hint of triumph.

"Ah, so that _is_ why you hate me. Not because I'm on Jane's side, but because you think I'm sharing her _bed_. What does that matter to you, though, _Assistant Director_? You've already proven how little you care about her."

Clenching his jaw, Weller held the younger man's gaze, unwilling to be the first to look away.

"Whatever you and Jane do outside this office is your own damn business," he ground out, "It has nothing to do with me."

"You're damn right it doesn't," Roman answered coldly, his eyes burning with quiet fury. "Jane has been the closest thing I've had to family since I was six years old, and you _broke her heart_. She's been hurt by people her whole life, but _no one _cut her deeper than you."

Taking a reflexive step forward, Weller drew himself up, his voice like steel. "I arrested her for crimes that she committed. I did my _job_."

"And then what?" Roman snarled, his own control slipping as he advanced on Weller, barely a few feet now separating them. "Do you even know where they shipped her off to? What they _did_ to her? Or did you know and just not care? Did you get off on sitting here acting like the wronged party while they tortured her for _three fucking months_?"

Breathing hard, Roman stared him down— but after a few tense moments, the hatred in his eyes seemed to cool slightly, morphing into a cool disdain as he took in the utter shock on Weller's face.

"So, you _didn't_ know," he muttered grimly, a bitter twist to his mouth. "That's the first and only point I'm going to put in your favor, _Assistant Director_, because honestly, I would have had no trouble believing that you knew the entire time and just didn't care. I know Jane definitely believes it, and yet she defends you anyway."

Shaking his head, he took a step back, his voice flat but his eyes intense, sharp with challenge.

"So, next time I save your life— which I'm probably going to have to keep doing indefinitely, since hell will probably freeze over before Jane turns her back on you— how about you not waste your thanks on me, and instead start giving me reasons to believe you're actually worth saving."

With that, he turned and strode from the room, the blinds on the door rattling as it slammed firmly shut behind him.

Left alone in the sudden silence, Weller let out an unsteady breath, then sank slowly into his chair, his eyes staring unseeingly at the blind-covered windows that faced the bullpen— the bullpen where Jane now waited, safe and whole and back in his life.

And now, finally, he knew he needed to do everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way.

After several long, slow breaths, he pushed himself up from his seat, then crossed the room and stepped back out into the bullpen— and for the first time, when he saw Roman lingering close by Jane's side, he felt no flash of anger or jealousy, no quickly-suppressed ache. Instead, he simply nodded, then turned and rejoined his team, his mind set.

Just a matter of minutes ago, he had owed Roman his life.

Now, he owed him so much more.

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_Thanks for reading!_


	3. Special Delivery

_This one was pre-episode speculation for 2x19, the scavenger hunt episode. Wish it had gone more like this!_

_Enjoy._

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The delivery guy was early.

As his knock echoed through the apartment, Jane shared a surprised glance with Roman, then slipped eagerly from the couch, wincing slightly at the pain that radiated through her battered muscles– a sharp reminder of the mistreatment they'd received during her little treasure hunt today.

A hunt that they most certainly hadn't won; but which was a success all the same, their targets now safely behind bars and a very powerful weapon out of reach of the wrong hands.

The hunt had also given her one other thing; something infinitely more precious, a prize that was as beautiful as it was dangerous.

Hope.

Scooping up her wallet, Jane shook her head slightly, trying– as she had been all evening– to focus, to avoid thoughts of Weller… of that kiss.

Or rather, that _almost_-kiss, that breathless moment of _maybe_ that had hung between them– right before the cavalry had very loudly arrived at the small warehouse that they'd holed up in, their besieged little fortress that housed the grand prize; the weapon that they'd wrested from the hands of their competitors before barricading themselves and the bound, unconscious bodies inside, surrounding the weapon like a bizarre honor-guard as they hunkered down to await their rescue.

A rescue that she'd wished could have waited just a few minutes longer.

She could still almost feel the warmth of Weller's breath on her lips, even now; but it was nothing more than the ghost of that _maybe_, a remnant of a foolish and unguarded moment. One that was unlikely to ever occur again, now that Weller had had time to think things through and realize what a mistake they had so nearly made; realize that the best place for him to be was as far from her as possible, keeping his heart well protected from her own.

Reaching the door, she threw a quick, reassuring grin at Roman, then pulled it open, a polite greeting already forming on her lips— which escaped instead as a soft 'oh', her body freezing on the threshold, suddenly struck with just how wrong she'd been.

It wasn't the delivery guy.

And Weller had definitely _not_ decided to remain as far from her as possible. That much was obvious, given that he was right now standing on her doorstep, literally within her reach, already close enough that she had to tilt her head back a little to see his face.

And then he stepped _closer_.

"Jane," he greeted softly, his eyes on hers; clear, steady, intent. "May I come in?"

She didn't respond; couldn't. She simply stepped wordlessly aside, then carefully closed the door behind him, her nerves buzzing, her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage like fists on a punching bag, a swift, powerful staccato that made it hard to breathe.

It was only his friendly greeting to Roman that managed to pull her back to herself, her body reacting first and her mind slowly catching up as she turned to face the two of them. Blinking, her eyes fixed first on her brother, seeing him already on his feet, no doubt having been bracing for an attack from the moment she'd frozen in the doorway.

"Hello, Weller," Roman responded politely, his gaze– as it so often was– edged with just a hint of suspicion, his eyes swiftly assessing the man before him. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, however, because after a moment she saw his expression shift, his head inclining in the tiniest nod.

"Well, I gotta go shower," he added unexpectedly, the words completely casual, relaxed, as if none of them could see the already darkened tips of his still-damp hair. "See you at work, Weller."

"Night, Roman," Weller answered amiably, his reply drowning out the tiny, incredulous sound that left her throat, her eyes wide as she stared at her brother in disbelief. Seemingly impervious, Roman simply shot her a lop-sided smirk and ambled from the room, a palpable stillness instantly falling in his absence, its weight heavy on her lungs.

Feeling exposed, Jane occupied herself with placing her wallet down on the small table beside her, then tugged a little on her sleeves before slowly turning and lifting her eyes to Weller's at last, seeing them fixed on her with an intensity that stole her breath, paralyzing her, her mind suddenly devoid of all thought.

And then suddenly he was crossing the floor between them, his hands lifting to cup her face, his calloused touch gentle but determined– and then within the next hard heartbeat his mouth was on hers, and she was falling into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer, the press of his lips against hers carrying the weight of months of yearning, months of _almost_ and _nearly_ and _maybe_. There was no more question now, no more uncertainty; not with the feel of him as familiar to her as if they'd done this a thousand times, his body fitting with hers as if by design, his hands holding her close against him as though he'd never let her go again.

And, as she kissed him back with everything she had– giving herself over completely to him, to this, _them_– she knew she never wanted him to.

Finally, though, he drew back just slightly, brushing his lips lightly over hers in parting before letting his forehead lower to rest against hers, one arm shifting to curl around her waist, fingers clenching in her shirt, a gentle anchor.

"We're already fighting one war, Jane," he murmured at last, his voice low, heavy with his confession. "I'm tired of trying to fight this one too." Shifting his hand, he stroked his thumb slowly over her cheek, then drew a shaky breath, his words dropping to a rough whisper. "I need you, Jane. I always have."

"I need you too," she whispered back, her answer given without a single trace of doubt or hesitation, her nose brushing against his for a moment before she drew back just enough to meet his eyes, letting him see just how truly she meant her next words. "Kurt… this, _us_… it's always been real. Sometimes it feels like the only thing that is."

A heavy breath shuddered from his lips, and then his arms drew her in close once more, his body surrounding her, his voice hoarse in her ear. "I know."

She didn't know how long they stood there like that; silently breathing each other in, her body all but melting into his as his hands stroked slowly across her back, his touch almost reverent, as if he'd suffered as much as she had from the distance they'd kept these past months.

All too soon, though, he drew a deep, slow breath, then turned his face to press a kiss to her temple, his regret clear in his next words.

"I've got to go. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

For a moment she held him tighter– half afraid that if she let him go, this would all disappear, would all turn out to be nothing more than another wistful dream– then sighed and loosened her grip, tilting her face up for one last kiss, one last taste to get her through the hours ahead. "Okay."

Reluctantly disentangling himself, he stroked a hand down her arm, gripping her hand gently for a moment, a tiny smile curving his lips as he looked down at her. Then, he slowly let go, his gaze holding hers for one last moment before he finally turned away, crossing to the door and pulling it open, turning back to her as soon as he was over the threshold, as if he'd known she'd be right there behind him.

"Night," he told her softly, his eyes tracing over her face, lingering on her lips for a moment before slowly lifting to meet her gaze once more, causing a new flush to rise in her already overheated cheeks.

"Night," she whispered, seeing the hint of an elated grin appear on his face as he turned and strolled away, his hands in his pockets and his step light. She watched him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, then slowly closed the door and leaned against it, blowing out a breath.

When she finally turned, she jumped slightly, seeing Roman leaning in the doorway to the hall, that same smirk still in place.

"So," he drawled, raising a teasing eyebrow. "Should I corner him in the gym tomorrow and ask him his intentions, or?"

"_Roman_," she said warningly, but the effect was ruined by the laughter in her voice, her joy bubbling over.

"Relax, I don't even need to ask. It's always been written all over his face every time he looks at you," he tossed back, then paused and tilted his head slightly, his expression turning serious. "And yours, too. It was probably the first thing I knew for sure about either of you."

For a moment she simply stared at him, speechless– until the silence was abruptly broken by yet another knock at the door, both of them turning in surprise before glancing back at one another. Giving him a look of mild warning, she crossed to the door, drawing in a deep breath before pulling it open– only to find the delivery guy hovering nervously on her doorstep, looking confused and somewhat shaken, having clearly just spent some time with her detail before being set free on Weller's return.

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Jane gave him a bright, grateful smile, then quickly grabbed her wallet, making sure to thank him for his trouble as he handed over the food, looking relieved and a little more relaxed than just a moment ago.

And when he walked away a minute later, it was with a grin on his face– and the biggest tip of his life tucked securely in his pocket.

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_Thanks for reading :)_


	4. From The Grave

_This one's only little, but I love it all the same. It was written sometime before S2, in response to a prompt with the dialogue from the third line._

_Enjoy x_

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"I never wanted this."

Sucking in an unsteady breath, Weller stared down at where she lay, the pain in his chest spreading slowly outward until he could feel nothing else.

"I tried to hate you. I really did. But every time I thought of you, the only thing I felt was–" _Love_, his mind finished for him, but the word stuck in his throat, tearing him even further apart inside. Blinking back against the sudden burn of tears, he swallowed hard, then at last choked out the words he'd never gotten to say to her.

"I loved you, Jane. And I'm so, so sorry."

Tearing his eyes from the newly carved headstone– inscribed with just her name and date of death, no birth date, nothing about the FBI, nothing to say all that she had been to him– he dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as the tears finally began to fall, running silently down his cheeks to drop onto the freshly turned earth beneath his feet.

_"I'm so sorry."_

Just over a dozen yards away, Jane started forward– but was abruptly halted by Roman's hand on her shoulder, his grip gentle but firm as he drew her back.

"Don't, Jane. You know why this has to happen. If you truly want this all to be over, if you want him to stay safe, then it has to be this way."

Clenching her jaw, Jane nodded, roughly brushing the tears from her cheeks.

"I know you're right. I just–"

"You love him," Roman finished for her, his voice gentle. "I understand, Jane. But you came to him through impossible circumstances before– not once, but twice. You'll find your way back to him again, I know you will."

Her eyes still locked on Weller's back, she let out a shuddering breath, then at last forced herself to turn away, her shoulders straightening, her expression hard.

"Let's go end this."

Almost three weeks later, bleeding and broken and barely conscious, she found her way to his door, his expression thunderstruck as he found her swaying on his doorstep.

"I love you," were the only words to pass her lips before she blacked out, her legs at last giving way beneath her.

She never felt him catch her and carry her inside, never felt the desperate way his hands pressed against her wounds as he waited impatiently for the ambulance, never felt the touch of his lips and whispered prayers against her skin as they raced to the hospital.

But when she woke, the first thing she felt was his hand in hers.

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_Thanks for reading! I promise a longer one next week._


	5. Lost in Translation

_This one was written for the prompt 'Language'. It's set sometime in S2 but was written prior to the premiere._

_Enjoy._

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He was getting really sick of being punched in the face.

He wasn't really a fan of being tied up, blindfolded, and tossed onto a concrete floor, either.

Gritting his teeth, Weller focused his attention, picturing the space as it had been in the brief glimpse he'd gotten.

Dim warehouse, maybe fifty feet across. Large stock crates stacked around the edges of the room. Three exits; one at his 12, 6, and 9 o'clock. Ten men arrayed around him, all bearing semiautomatics and a bad attitude.

And then there was Jane.

Every few seconds, he felt the brush of her shoulder against his as she took a deep breath, the small touch both a comfort and an unwelcome reminder that he would not be alone in the fate that awaited him. Letting out a slow breath of his own, he shifted just a fraction to press his shoulder against hers, feeling her tense instantly at the contact– and then relax a second later, leaning into him slightly.

It was the only reassurance that either of them could give; but for him, it was enough.

Somewhere in front of them, he could hear two men– including the very one they'd come here trying to find– conversing heatedly in Mandarin, no doubt debating exactly when and how to kill them with minimal inconvenience.

Jane, of course, wouldn't have to guess. Jane would no doubt already know exactly how they were about to die.

Because they would. They'd have to. Even with what little they'd managed to learn about this smuggling ring before being jumped, they would surely already be considered far too much of a liability to be allowed to live.

And there was no chance of backup, either, no help on the way; right now, Reade and Zapata were several warehouses over, searching for what he and Jane had already found. No one had any idea of the trouble they were in, which meant they were completely on their own.

No one was coming to save them.

Hell, Jane shouldn't have even _needed_ saving.

There'd been a moment in which the men had only seen him; in those few seconds, she could have easily slipped out the door beside her, could have made a run for it. Instead, as the semiautomatics had pointed his way, she'd only stepped closer, hands already in the air.

Because of course she had. She was _Jane_, and even if they hadn't spoken about anything not directly case-related in weeks– not since she'd come back to the FBI– he'd have to have been blind not to see everything she had been doing to prove herself, her determination and dedication to the team as strong as it had ever been.

She'd been speaking to him through her actions, and he'd slowly been trying to do the same, but there were still so many things he hadn't been able to show her. Too many things. But if they were about to die… if this was his only chance to tell her the truth, at the very least he could start with telling her that he was sorry; sorry for how he'd acted towards her, sorry for leading her into a trap, sorry for getting her killed.

Hopefully then she'd know that he'd never wanted this for her, had never wanted _any_ harm to come to her, despite what his treatment of her might have led her to believe.

Swallowing, Weller turned his head towards her, his shoulder pressing more closely against hers– but just as he was about to speak, she spoke first.

In clear, careful Mandarin.

Immediately, the two voices stopped, and then one rose again, the demand clear in his tone.

And Jane answered– and kept speaking, the words flowing from her, her tone gentle, imploring, even almost seductive. Stunned, Weller listened to the men listening to her, hearing the voice of the ringleader– their suspect, Fung– shift from anger to something almost like intrigue. Like calculation.

For another minute, the conversation continued, Jane seeming to have an answer for everything Fung threw her way.

And then suddenly he barked an order, and a moment later Weller felt Jane being pulled to her feet, _pulled away from him_, and instantly her name tore from his throat, his body lurching forward as he fought to gain his footing– only for a rifle butt to suddenly slam into his back, his shoulder and temple striking hard against the concrete floor.

Even through the flash of pain, he heard Jane's clear voice ring out, and a moment later he felt rough hands yank him up off the floor, his blindfold slipping free as he struggled against their grip.

And then, abruptly, he stopped struggling, and stared.

Her blindfold gone and her hands now free, Jane stood close by Fung's side, his arm snaking around her waist as he eyed her with undisguised lust. But even more than that was the look she was giving him– coy, seductive, her fingers toying with the lapels of his jacket as she focused only on him.

As Weller gaped, she murmured something in a soft, inquiring tone, all but batting her eyelashes at him, her body pressing a little closer to his. With a huff, he muttered a few words, then lifted his free hand, gesturing carelessly at the men flanking Weller.

Immediately, two of the grabbed him by the shoulders, locking him in place, while a third stepped in front of him, gun raised. Beyond him, Weller saw Fung turn and walk away with Jane, his arm still curved possessively around her.

Not once did she look back.

Breathing her name one last time, Weller closed his eyes, seeing her face in his mind as he waited to die.

And then his head exploded with pain, and he saw nothing more.

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"Weller! _Weller_!"

Groaning, Weller forced his eyes open, blinking against the light. His head was pounding, and for a long, painful moment he couldn't place where he was.

And then he knew.

"Where's Jane?" he demanded roughly, yanking forcefully against his bindings as he looked straight past Zapata and Reade, his gaze rapidly searching the warehouse beyond.

"That's what we were about to ask _you_," Reade said, immediately handing his knife to Zapata as she tugged at the ropes that bound Weller to a low metal railing, her face hard.

"They took her," he growled, pulling his arms free the moment Zapata was through the rope, his head spinning as he forced himself to his feet.

"Whoa," Reade said with concern, reaching out to steady him. "_Who_ took her?"

"Fung and his men," Weller said impatiently, eyes still scanning the warehouse, searching for clues. "They jumped us. She talked to them and then they took her."

Clearly surprised, Reade glanced at Zapata before looking back at him. "What'd she say to them?"

"If I spoke Mandarin, maybe I'd know," he ground out, pulling away from Reade's grip and pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead. "But they were about an inch away from putting bullets in our heads, and then next thing Jane was walking out on his arm and I'm waking up like this."

He saw the understanding dawn on Zapata's face first, her voice soft as she looked between him and Reade. "She made a deal…"

Shaking his head to clear it, Weller held up a hand, his voice hard-edged.

"Enough. Just take me to the car. We need to get to the lab and access all the security footage, _now_."

#########

"Patterson, tell me you've got something!"

Striding into the lab with Reade and Zapata at his heels, Weller ignored the pain that still pounded through his head, his eyes only on the youngest member of his team.

"I'm working on it," she answered hurriedly, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her eyes focused. "The cam footage is just collating now."

As he reached her, she turned to say something– but instead did an abrupt double-take, staring at his battered face.

"Uh, Weller, should you maybe–"

"I _don't_ need to go to med bay," he growled, refusing to have the same conversation a third time. "I need to find where the hell Fung and his men took Jane."

"Are we totally sure she wants to be found?" Reade asked evenly, seemingly ignoring the warning look Zapata shot him. "I mean, you said yourself that she went with them willingly, and it sounds like she was pretty cozy with Fung…"

"Whatever she said, whatever deal she made, it's the reason why I'm not lying in the morgue right now," Weller said harshly, barely controlling the fury that flashed through him. Stepping closer to Reade, he held his gaze, every muscle in his body tense. "She put herself in the hands of one of the most dangerous men in the country just so I would make it out of there alive."

Instantly, Reade lifted his hands in surrender, his eyebrows high. "Just wanted to make sure we considered all angles. But I have to admit, even after everything I couldn't see Jane cutting and running like that."

Looking back up at the computer screen, Weller gritted his teeth. "Her motives don't matter. All that matters is finding her."

"Uh, I think I can help with that," Patterson said slowly, her eyes wide as she stared out into the bullpen.

Instantly, Weller spun, following her gaze– and saw Jane limping slowly from the elevator, half-dragging a stumbling Fung with her.

He was out the door before anyone in the lab even had a chance to speak, his eyes never leaving her as he moved swiftly across the bullpen, his gaze automatically cataloguing her injuries, her body seeming as battered as his own.

As he drew nearer, he knew the exact moment when she caught sight of him; saw the sheer relief on her bloodied face, her gaze assessing him just as he'd assessed her.

When he reached her, she looked up at him with wide, anxious eyes, pushing her cargo forward like an offering.

"I brought you Fung," she told him quickly, the slightest hint of a waver in her voice. "And I know where the rest are."

For a moment, he simply stared down at her– simply let himself just look at her and breathe. Then, he turned to his left, eyes fixing on the first agents he saw.

"Sanders, McIntyre. Take this suspect to interview 2 and prep him."

As the two agents obediently escorted Fung away, he turned back to Jane.

"Jane, come with me."

Following close by his side like a silent shadow, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor even after they'd entered the lab, seemingly afraid to make eye contact with any of the team.

"Jane's got the address of Fung's base of operations," he stated clearly, then gentled his voice slightly. "Tell them, Jane."

Once she'd given it, he focused on Patterson, directing his next comment to her. "Send a team, and keep me informed over the comms. Reade, Zapata, you two will take point. Jane and I are going to med bay."

"Understood," Patterson answered immediately, the other two simply nodding before gathering their things.

Looking concerned, Jane shook her head. "I don't need to–"

"Yes, you do," he countered firmly, stepping past her to push open the door. "Now come on."

For a second she hesitated, then nodded, joining him and heading back toward the elevator. As the doors closed behind them, closing them off from everyone else, he felt her draw in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice low, remorseful. When he looked at her in confusion, she swallowed, then explained, "For leaving you behind. It was the only thing I could think to do."

Eyes searching her face, he asked the question that had been on his mind all morning, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer.

"What did you say to them?"

"That killing you would only make the FBI chase them harder," she answered quietly, her eyes staring unseeingly at the elevator doors. "That I wasn't an agent, just an asset being used by the FBI for my skills, and that I wanted out. I convinced Fung that I could be… useful to him instead."

Weller nodded slowly, impressed– but also unsurprised– by her quick thinking. Clearly having no idea of the tone of his thoughts, Jane looked down, a small, bitter chuckle leaving her lips.

"I guess even strangers have no trouble believing I have no loyalty."

"I don't doubt your loyalty, Jane," he told her quietly, "Not anymore."

Instantly, her eyes lifted to his, her gaze searching; then, after holding his gaze for several seconds, she blinked and looked away, her eyes bright, her voice a little hoarse.

"Thank you, Weller."

Drawing in a slow breath, he shifted slightly to let his shoulder press gently against hers, feeling her tense for a fleeting moment before she finally seemed to settle, her body relaxing and leaning just a fraction into his.

And when the elevator doors opened a few moments later, they stepped out together, both bruised and battered– but more whole than they'd been in a long, long time.

#########

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	6. Buried

_Because I love me some angst with a happy ending._

_Set sometime in S2 but written prior to the premiere._

* * *

His lungs were burning.

His head throbbed, his muscles cramping viciously from so long trapped in one position. With every shallow breath, his chest brushed against Jane's back, her body now as still and exhausted as his.

Pressed against his own back, however, was something entirely different; the very thing that was about to cost them their lives.

The firm, cushioned wall of what was undeniably a casket.

He wasn't sure how long had passed since he'd regained consciousness, finding himself in the pitch dark with Jane's body close beside his and the scent of her hair filling his head. For that first half-second, he'd felt comfortable, content– until reality had set in, and he'd remembered that in his bed was the last place that Jane should ever– _would_ ever– be.

And so he'd swiftly pushed away, sitting up– only for his forehead to slam hard into the lid of the casket above him, his sharp curse waking Jane with a jerk, only his barked command not to move preventing her from instantly suffering the same injury he had.

Instead, she'd frozen immediately at his words, her voice carefully even as she'd asked him just what the hell was going on.

He hadn't really needed to answer– her searching hands had already put the pieces together, the solid, unyielding lid of the casket already conveying a single, undeniable truth.

They had been buried alive.

They'd pushed and pounded and shouted until their hands were bruised and their throats raw, their eyes straining in the total darkness. But with their pockets empty and their phones missing, there was no light, no tools… and no hope for rescue.

They were on their own– and now, they were out of time.

Forcing himself to think beyond the throbbing pain in his head, Weller tried desperately to think of something– _anything_– that might save them, might somehow get them out of this. But there was nothing left they could do, nothing they hadn't already tried.

Which meant that, after everything, they were now about to die.

It seemed that Jane was thinking along the same lines; breaking her silence for the first time in several minutes, she spoke quietly, her voice rough.

"I'm sorry."

"Jane–"

"No, Weller, listen," she said urgently, her words laced with the same desperation he felt. "The air is almost gone. We can't have more than a few minutes left, which means we're not making it out of here. So please, just let me say this."

Sucking in one of their last remaining breaths, she finally gave in, her voice faltering, almost breaking as she let the words spill out, baring her soul to him.

"I'm sorry for everything. Lying to you, hurting the team, Mayfair– all of it. But my old organisation, they… they threatened the team. Threatened everyone I love. They were going to kill you, Kurt, and I couldn't let that happen, so I did whatever they asked."

He heard her choke back a tiny, ragged sob before she forced out her next words, her broken whisper tearing at his heart. "And now we're both going to die anyway."

Clenching his eyes shut, Weller swallowed hard, his own words feeling like razorblades in his throat, tearing him apart from the inside.

"I'm sorry too, Jane."

Feeling her shudder against him, he forged on, determined to make her understand, to make her believe he meant it.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you, and for not being able to get us out of this. I'm so sorry, Jane. For everything."

For half a moment she was silent, her body tense; and then she let out a long, shaky breath, her body seeming to relax slightly before it slowly began to shift, her shoulders curling inward as she carefully rolled to face him. Even blind, he could still picture her, could sense her eyes searching for his in the darkness. And then he felt her hand against his chest, her palm slowly sliding up his neck to drift her fingers lightly over his cheek and jaw.

"Kurt," she whispered finally, and he could hear the tears in her voice, hear the truth that lay beneath them. "I love you."

And suddenly, he _really_ couldn't breathe, his heart stuttering wildly in his chest before abruptly kicking back into gear, its beat almost deafening in his ears.

"_Goddammit_," he hissed sharply, then instantly reached for her, his hand curling around the back of her neck, pulling her even closer as his lips found hers. She responded with a near-frantic need, her body pressing close against his, her hands clutching at him as she deepened the kiss, both of them desperately using their remaining moments to show each other everything they'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to draw breath, body shaking and heart crumbling as he whispered his last words against her skin, his dying confession.

"I love you too, Jane. I never stopped loving you."

With a whimper, she pressed her lips once again to his, a final goodbye–

And then suddenly, there was a loud, pneumatic hiss, and the lid of the casket smoothly lifted open, the world around them flooding with both light and air, making them clench their eyes shut, their chests heaving with huge, shuddering breaths.

Barely a moment later, a tinny voice echoed around them, seeming to come from within the casket itself.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Squinting against the near-blinding light, Weller lifted his head and looked around, his jaw clenching as his eyes slowly adjusted, revealing the walled space around them to be a rental storage locker. As Jane shakily propped herself up beside him, the unmistakable voice spoke again.

"Stubbles, Janie, as always it's been a true pleasure– a truly _breathtaking_ experience, you might say– but sadly it's probably about time I let you go. You'll find your phones and other cool FBI toys in the box on the table– and before you grump at me, Stubbles, _yes_, they are all there and safely in one piece. I promise I didn't even play with them. Well, okay, maybe just a little, because naturally I had to take the liberty of disabling the phones' GPS. I mean, I couldn't exactly have anyone interrupting our special alone time, could I? Of course not. But don't you worry, they should be back online in like an hour or so– though rest assured you'll probably be back with the rest of our little dream team long before then."

Glancing over to one of the side walls, Weller instantly saw the table with the box atop it, the only two other objects in the locker aside from their casket and its low stand. Both irritated and relieved, he shook his head, then curled a hand around the edge of the casket as Rich went on.

"By the way, were you guys aware that you _both_ have a picture of each other saved on your phones that is one of the most frequently-accessed files on each of your devices? God, you guys are so cute it's almost nauseating. Seriously. But speaking of which– and this is just a friendly FYI for my favorite FBIs– if you guys happen to feel at all like continuing what you started there in the love-casket, there's a motel right across the street that rents by the hour. I've already contacted them with your descriptions, and we came to a nice little arrangement so that the entire cost of your stay– however long that may be, because let's be real you guys have a _lot_ of UST to work through– will be on me. I mean, what can I say, even with this fierce beard I do make a pretty great Cupid. And yes, I know I'm fantastic, and yes, you are absolutely welcome. Anyhow, though, while this has all been _so_ much fun– we should really do it again sometime, don't you think?– for now I gotta go lick some sweet sticky things off some sweet young things, if you know what I mean. Toodles!"

There was a click, and then the faint sound of static abruptly cut off, the communication link clearly severed.

"I'm going to kill him," Weller growled, then firmly pushed himself up and climbed out of the casket, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest at the action. Reaching back to her, he helped her clamber out, his hands lingering on her elbows as she tested her balance.

"You'd have to find him first," she muttered, then looked up at him, her eyes stark, uncertain. "So what happens now?"

Reluctantly letting go of her, he moved over to the table, collecting all of their things from the battered cardboard box as he spoke over his shoulder. "We get back to the NYO, try to find a way to explain all of this."

Turning back to her, he held out her phone and gun, and she took them, tucking them away before reaching out to curl her fingers around his wrist.

"Kurt, what happens now _with us_?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, then drew a breath and stepped in a little closer, his eyes meeting and holding hers, his heart beating unsteadily in his chest. "But we'll figure it out, alright? Together."

He watched the glimmer of tears form in her eyes before she blinked them back, the corner of her mouth curving in a tiny smile. "I like the sound of that."

"Me too," he admitted softly, his hand lifting to gently brush her tangled hair back from her face, the touch lingering for a moment as they simply looked at one another, their eyes reflecting everything they'd revealed back in those final moments in the casket.

Then, he reluctantly dropped his hand and moved over to the roller door, pulling it up to reveal the bright afternoon sunshine, their storage locker just one in a bank of several that faced out over the parking lot to the street beyond. Seeing the cheap motel directly across the street, Weller shook his head slightly, then looked back at Jane, his eyes softening.

"C'mon. Let's get the hell out of here."

With a tiny nod, she moved to his side– which was exactly where he wanted her to always stay– and together, they stepped out into the light.

* * *

_Being buried alive was practically a phobia of mine while growing up, but damn if I don't love it as a trope to get two people to realise they love each other lol..._

_Also I don't feel like this captured Rich as well as I would like_–_ I guess it's true that we didn't know his voice as well back then, but ah well._

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_


	7. Me?

_This one was a tumblr prompt from way back. It's a little canon-divergent drabble set after the lockdown episode late in S1– just pretend Mayfair didn't get arrested and Jeller got to go out for their post-lockdown drinks like they deserved._

_Enjoy._

* * *

Two drinks turned into several.

They hadn't intended it that way, but once they were at the bar– tucked away in some dim, quiet corner, well separate from all the noise and prying eyes– neither of them had felt any sort of inclination towards leaving anytime soon.

Which was how, after a number of rounds and a lot of laughter– for someone who spent so much of their time being straight-laced and professional, Weller was _fun_, and seemed to know exactly how to set her at ease– Jane found herself sighing, silently disappointed that it was now technically the weekend, with their lack of a case meaning neither of them would be required in the office until Monday.

Which meant two whole days before she would see him again.

"I can't believe we don't actually have an active case," she murmured, trying to keep the wistful note from her voice. Shaking her head slightly, she lifted her eyes to his, her expression incredulous. "Seriously, when was the last time that happened? I don't think I actually know what a work-free weekend is like."

"Quiet," he laughed, leaning in and raising his brows. "No one shoots at you, or tries to blow you up, or makes you run up seventy flights of stairs."

"That _does_ sound nice," she said wryly, shooting him a grin. Then, her gaze dropped, her fingers toying with her glass as her smile faded. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, her words heavy. "But work is all I know. Ever since I came out of that bag, it's all I've ever done– all I know _how_ to do. So what the hell am I supposed to do tomorrow?"

"Me?" he offered mischievously, the word seemingly slipping unthinkingly from his mouth– and instantly her wide eyes shot to his, seeing his playful expression rapidly transform into one of mortification.

"I– sorry," he sputtered hastily, an undercurrent of true alarm in his voice. "That wasn't– I didn't mean– just pretend I didn't say that."

Swiftly searching his gaze, Jane at last saw what he usually kept so carefully hidden, saw everything she felt reflected in his eyes. And as the smile started to spread across her face, she leaned in close, one hand coming to rest against his chest– feeling his heartbeat racing wildly beneath her palm– before she put her mouth close to his ear, her words a low, teasing whisper.

"Why wait until tomorrow?"

Pulling back slightly, she met his gaze steadily, one eyebrow arching just a fraction in both invitation and challenge.

For a moment he simply stared at her, dumbstruck– and then suddenly his hand was cupping the back of her head and his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a fusion of tenderness and fire that tasted like bourbon and _Kurt_.

Leaning into him, she kissed back with everything she had, needing this, needing _him_. They'd danced around one another long enough, had wasted far too much time and effort trying to convince themselves that they needed to keep their distance, and she wouldn't– _couldn't–_ do it anymore.

Pulling back slightly, she met his eyes– and for a brief moment they simply grinned at each other, his thumb stroking gently over her cheek, before she leaned back in and pressed her smiling lips once more to his.

And for the first time, she found herself very, very glad it was the weekend.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	8. Behind Closed Doors

_This one was a tumblr prompt for the dialogue "You think you're so handsome that nobody can resist you, Weller?" Set in S2 sometime, as most of these are lol_

_Enjoy x_

* * *

She was going to break his fingers.

She'd do it. She really would. Anything to make his hand release hers, to save her from the torturous warmth of his skin against her own. She'd thought they'd come to an unspoken agreement about this, a self-imposed no-touch rule. She'd thought they had an understanding.

One she hated with practically every fiber of her being, but one that was preferable to being touched by him when he would never be hers again.

If he had _ever_ been hers.

Still, she'd thought they were relatively on the same page– or as close as they could get to it these days– until he'd interrupted her conversation right in the middle of their undercover op and practically dragged her away from the other guest, his hand feeling far too good around hers.

Just as she seriously considered voicing her threat towards the well-being of his fingers– they'd moved down an elegant hallway and were now almost completely out of earshot of any of the party's other patrons– he abruptly stopped and opened a door beside them, using the bulk of his body to usher her through and into the room beyond.

No, not a room.

A _closet_.

As he swiftly closed the door behind them, she yanked her hand from his, her anger flaring at both his manhandling of her and the stupid, reflexive fluttering of her heart.

"Weller, what the hell are you doing?" she hissed, trying to step past him, but he remained firmly in front of the door. "We need to find that informant–"

"There's a woman who's been following me," he answered simply, not even bothering to look at her as he spoke, his eyes focused on the tiny gap between the door and the jamb, trying to see out.

"So?" Jane demanded, angrily folding her arms over her chest, making the silky fabric scrunch. "She's been fawning over you all damn night. Some flirty civilian isn't exactly a problem worth dragging me in here over."

"It is if she prevents me from being able to make contact with the informant," he countered flatly, then added, "Plus, one of the security guards has taken an interest."

That made her pause, her anger at him instantly shifting to concern for the mission. "You think he made you?"

"No, I think he took an _interest_," he corrected, not a trace of joking in his tone. "He slipped me his number when I was by the bar."

And instantly the anger was back, her hands curling into fists as her entire body tensed, frustration brimming over.

"Oh, you think you're just so damn handsome that nobody can resist you, Weller?"

His reply was sardonic, his usual temper remaining firmly reined in. "I do."

"Well, I can," she spat, then blinked, surprised that the words had even left her mouth. Then was annoyed all over again when she realized just what a lie they were.

Thankfully, Weller didn't know that; sounding coolly disinterested, he voiced his response without ever taking his eyes from the gap in the door.

"Good for you."

Drawing in a deep breath, Jane forcibly controlled her temper, deciding that humoring him might just be the fastest way to get out of here and as far away from him as possible.

"So exactly _why_ are we in here?"

"Nothing shuts down unwanted attention like slipping off with the most beautiful woman at the party," Weller muttered distractedly, the answer given without even the slightest shift in his stance or manner, as if he wasn't even fully aware of what he just said.

But she was. She was all too aware, her heart racing even faster and her breathing suddenly unsteady. He barely even looked at her these days, let alone had a kind word to say to her, and yet…

And yet he called her beautiful as if it was an undisputed fact, as if the sight of her might even make him feel something other than the anger and betrayal she'd come to expect.

He said it like he _meant_ it.

Before she even really had a chance to process that thought, he suddenly cursed quietly and straightened up, pulling back from the door.

"Someone's coming,"he whispered sharply, then abruptly turned and pulled her close, his voice low and urgent. "Try to look like we were just–"

Jane didn't think. She just reacted, her mouth covering his before he'd even finished his sentence, her arms winding around the back of his neck and bringing her body flush with his.

For a split second he didn't respond, his entire body frozen against hers. And then suddenly he came alive, his hands trading their barely-there touch at her hips for a firm, almost possessive grip, drawing her even closer against him. A second later his palms were sliding roughly over her silken dress, one pressing against the small of her back as the other came up to cup the back of her head, angling her just slightly as his mouth opened, claiming her bottom lip almost fiercely before taking charge and deepening the kiss.

Moaning into his mouth, Jane kissed him back just as hard, her hands clutching at him, raking through his hair as she desperately pressed herself closer, needing this, needing _him_. She'd been starved of him for too long, had fought back her feelings for too long, and she just couldn't fight anymore.

And right now, with him kissing her like this, she didn't care.

Neither of them heard the closet door open, but they certainly heard the sound that followed; the sound of someone very loudly and pointedly clearing their throat.

A _familiar_ someone.

"Sorry to break up the party," Zapata drawled as they all but leaped apart, both standing as far from each other as the small closet would allow, trying hard not to look guilty.

"We were just trying to get someone off Weller's tail," Jane explained firmly, silently relieved when her voice sounded only slightly breathless.

"Well, 10/10 for the acting skills," Zapata informed them, one eyebrow arching wryly before her expression smoothed out into her usual professional mask, leaving only a trace of amusement lingering behind her gaze. "We found the informant, by the way. Why don't you two take a minute and straighten yourselves up before you join us."

Without waiting for a reply, she stepped back and closed the door, suddenly leaving them alone once more.

Blowing out a harsh breath, Jane closed her eyes for a moment, then stepped towards the door.

"Let's just go."

"Wait, Jane," he said suddenly, an almost sheepish note entering his voice as he added, "I– I messed up your hair."

Clenching her jaw, Jane slowly turned back to face him, standing motionless as he silently stepped up before her, his expression carefully blank and his eyes avoiding hers as he gently eased the wayward strands back into place.

It felt like an eternity later when he gave a slight nod and stepped back, her murmured thanks coming out far huskier than she'd intended, making her bite her lip.

"Jane–" he began, but she cut him off.

"It was nothing, Weller," she told him firmly, letting him off the hook. She didn't need to listen to him fumble through an explanation about how his lingering physical attraction to her didn't mean he felt anything _else_ for her. Not even a kiss as world-rocking as that one could make her forget what he'd already made so abundantly clear since her return. Instead, she lifted a shoulder in a tiny, careless shrug, adding, "You wanted a cover, so I provided a cover, okay? That's all."

"Right," he answered after a long moment, but there was something in his tone, something in the way he looked at her, that seemed like maybe…

No. She wouldn't go there. The last time she'd had even the tiniest flicker of hope about them, she'd found out a day later that he was about to be a father. Hope was something she no longer allowed herself to feel.

Turning from him, she tugged at her dress slightly, then pushed open the door, gliding out as if she was any one of these rich socialites without a care in the world. She knew without looking that Weller had followed her, could feel his presence just a step behind her, her ever-present awareness of him stronger now than ever.

And then suddenly he stepped up beside her, her entire body tensing as his hand came to rest at the small of her back. When she shot a sharp look at him, he inclined his head slightly to the left, and she followed the line with her eyes until she saw the woman watching them– the same woman who had been setting Jane's teeth on edge all evening, giggling and preening like a schoolgirl as she'd followed Weller around, all but throwing herself at his feet at every chance she got.

Fighting the temptation to send a fierce glare in her direction, Jane simply let her body shift a little closer to Weller's, deliberately ignoring the way his hand slid from her back to curl around her hip in response, her dress doing nothing to shield her from the heat of his skin.

_Just a cover_, she reminded herself firmly, then shifted her gaze to the doorway across the ballroom where Reade stood sentry, their teammate giving them a small nod before disappearing through the door, knowing they would follow.

When they stepped through half a minute later, he didn't raise an eyebrow at their cozy appearance, didn't breathe a word about what Zapata had interrupted in the closet. He simply gestured down the hallway and then turned and started walking– and immediately Jane detached herself from Weller's side and followed after him, determinedly refusing to miss his steadying nearness or the warmth and gentleness of his touch.

Because, after all, she'd said it herself– it was nothing.

_They_ were nothing.

Or at least, that was what she believed– until a few days later when he pulled her into a storage closet at the NYO after yet another argument about her risk-taking in the field.

Because this time, _he_ kissed _her_.

* * *

_Thought I'd better pick something (relatively) happy as an an apology for my super angsty Valentine's day fic on Tumblr lol_

_Thanks for reading!_


	9. Hurricane

_Just a short one this week, sorry! Written for the prompt: "They hurt each other more than anyone, but they're vicious when it comes to protecting each other." Set sometime in early S2._

_Hope you like it._

* * *

#########

"Geez, it looks like a hurricane hit in here."

"Well, you know what they're like," Zapata answered dryly, glancing over as Reade stepped up beside her. "God help anyone that gets in their way."

"Especially anyone that tries to hurt either of them while the other is around," he added, his eyes surveying the crime scene before them. "I heard one guy had his gun on Weller and Jane broke his arm so bad that the bone was sticking out."

"Did you hear about the guy that ended up with six broken ribs and a severe concussion? He hit Jane from behind while she was already fighting two of the others. Weller saw and threw him into a wall."

"Jesus," Reade muttered, then turned to her with brows raised. "How many of them were there altogether? Six?"

"Seven."

"And how many of those were taken away in ambulances?"

"Seven."

"_Goddamn_," he breathed, impressed. "You know, for two people who barely manage to speak to each other, they really do make an unstoppable team."

Zapata nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah, well, they may have hurt each other more than anyone, but they're vicious when it comes to protecting each other. I guess some feelings don't go away, no matter how much you want them to."

Dropping his gaze, Reade sighed. "I hear that."

Glancing over at him, Zapata tilted her head. "Sarah will come around, Reade. She just needs time."

"Yeah, maybe," he murmured, then cleared his throat, changing the subject. "So should we go over and see how they're doing?"

"Give it another minute," she said, nodding to where Jane sat in the back of an ambulance, keeping very still as Weller leaned over her, seeming to inspect her injuries. "I don't wanna ruin the moment."

Looking over, Reade watched as Weller gently tilted Jane's chin up to examine her jaw, then glanced back at Zapata with eyebrows raised. "Huh. Well if _those_ two can somehow manage to figure things out, then maybe there's hope for me and Sarah after all."

"Trust me, if there's one thing I know about, it's beating the odds," Zapata told him confidently, her eyes still on the other pair. "And I can tell you right now, Weller and Jane will do it. And so will you."

Bumping her shoulder with his, Reade feigned shock. "Why, Agent Zapata, who knew you were such a romantic?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," she scowled, "Unless you wanna be leaving here in ambulance number eight."

"I love you too, partner," he teased, then straightened. "Now let's go join these two lovebirds-of-prey before they find anyone else to beat up."

With a shake of her head, Zapata turned to walk with him, her words playful. "Honestly, you'd think that after all the time they've spent beating themselves up during these last few months, they'd have no energy left to fight anyone else."

"Somehow I think it might work the opposite way with them," he commented lightly, a small, amused smile curving his lips as he considered the thought.

She shrugged. "Well, as long as we're not on the receiving end, I guess that's fine by me."

Pausing abruptly, Reade turned back to her with hands raised, his eyes going wide in sudden alarm. "Oh, man."

Confused, Zapata narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

Leaning in, he held her gaze intently, his voice lowering. "_Tasha_. If they're like this with each other… imagine what it's gonna be like if they have a _kid_ someday."

With a snort, Zapata glanced once more at the other two, then slowly shook her head, her voice wry.

"I think we're safe for a couple of years at least, but after that… well, then may God have mercy on us all, because we're sure gonna need it."

#########

* * *

_Reade and Zapata know what's up haha_

_Thanks for reading!_


	10. ZIP

_This one was a prompt after I wrote a recap for 1x12, the ep where the team finds that guy Charlie being experimented on with ZIP in the storage facility locker thing..._

_Enjoy x_

* * *

The lights were flickering.

Guns in hand and eyes focused, Jane and Weller ran hard, their feet slamming against the concrete as they passed roller door by roller door, searching for the right number.

Searching for Charlie.

As they ran, shouts and gunfire echoed through the corridors between the storage lockers, both Reade and Zapata locked in individual battles somewhere in the depths of the facility.

But for her and Weller, the battle lay ahead.

As the locker came into sight, they shared a glance, then put on a final burst of speed, Jane's gun up and ready as Weller yanked the roller door open, the squealing metal drowning out the gasps of those inside.

Ducking under the door in tandem, they threw themselves at their surprised opponents, the three armed security men recovering far quicker than the two gowned medical staff that cowered by Charlie's body.

One guard was dead in moments, her bullet finding the very center of his chest. A second launched himself at her, the two of them grappling, almost stumbling into Weller and his own opponent. Disarming his attacker and shoving him into the wall, Weller turned and swept the foot from under hers, sending him to the ground before spinning back just in time to block another blow from the other guard.

Slamming her man's head into the concrete floor, she watched as he slumped, unconscious, then looked up just as Weller dispatched his own, the man falling heavily to the ground at his feet. The relieved breath hadn't even escaped her lips when she saw the sudden flash of movement behind Weller, her body instantly reacting to what her mind had barely even had the time to comprehend.

Throwing herself to her feet with a cry, she slammed into him, knocking him out of the way as the doctor's arm arced swiftly downward, the sharp needle burying itself deep in her shoulder, its contents burning through her veins like liquid fire.

The next sharp pain was from her knee slamming into the concrete, her legs no longer able to support her. With a yell, Weller put three bullets into the doctor's chest, her body crumpling just a few feet from Jane's. Then, he fell to his knees beside her, gripping the needle tight and yanking it from her flesh.

Staring up at him, she barely heard him moan her name, his voice rough and desperate as he begged her to stay with him. Pulling her into his lap, he cradled her in his arms, and she held his gaze as she simply reached up and touched his face, his stubble rough beneath her trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears burning in her eyes as she felt herself slowly slipping away. "I couldn't let you forget."

And then her eyes slid closed, and she was gone.

...

Even before she opened her eyes, she knew something was very, very wrong.

In fact, it was the _only_ thing she knew.

"I gotta go," a deep male voice suddenly said nearby, his tone both hopeful and worried. "Her heart rate's picking up. I think she's waking."

Forcing her eyes open, she blinked against the light, then swiftly sat up, drawing away from the broadly-built man by her bedside.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, all senses immediately on alert.

The moment she spoke, she saw something flicker behind his blue eyes, his voice not quite even as he answered.

"Jane. It's me. _Kurt_."

Looking rapidly around the room, she felt her chest becoming tight, making it hard to breathe. "Where am I?"

"You're in hospital," he said gently, then leaned a little closer. "Jane, please. Look at me. Try to remember."

"I don't know you," she told him sharply– but somehow she felt like she should. She _wanted_ to, for reasons she didn't understand. And when she saw the pain that flashed across his face, she wanted nothing more than to ease it, to fix whatever had broken him.

But she didn't know _how_.

The next moment, there was a knock at the door, a dark-haired woman poking her head through and shooting them both an apologetic look. "Sorry, Weller. Mayfair wants to talk to you."

Beside her, the man bit back a sigh, his piercing eyes once more meeting and holding hers, the emotion far too intense. "I'll be right back, okay, Jane?"

Nodding, she watched him leave, hating the moment that the door closed behind him, the room suddenly seeming far too empty without him in it.

And yet, she was glad he was gone, glad she no longer had to look at him and see the sadness and worry in his eyes, the disappointment that she knew would only grow stronger.

Whatever he said, whatever she might want, she was not this man's loved one.

She was not 'Jane'.

She knew it, because she knew the truth, could feel it right down to her bones.

_She was no one._

And she was completely and utterly _alone_.

Letting out a shuddering breath, she slowly leaned back against the pillows, then simply closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

#########

It was his voice that woke her.

"Jane. Jane, it's alright. Wake up."

Instantly awake, Jane scrambled up the bed, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Body shaking, her eyes skittered in the darkness until they latched onto him, a relieved sob escaping her throat before her hands reflexively reached for him, clutching at him, needing to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palms.

Carefully shifting himself up the bed until he was even with her, he covered one of her hands with his, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I'm here, Jane. I'm here," he reassured her, his other hand slowly wiping the tears from her cheeks before gently tugging her to him, letting her nestle her face into the curve of his neck.

Holding her close, he simply stroked her hair for a few moments before speaking, his words rumbling in his throat.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I couldn't remember you," she whispered hoarsely, her body shuddering in his embrace. "I got dosed again and I couldn't remember you."

She'd had the dream before. Many times. But this was the first time that she'd woken up from it with him beside her, whole and real and right there within her reach. Their relationship was still new– or at least, this aspect of it was, the two of them having shared a bed for barely more than a week after months of slowly rebuilding what had been broken, slowly working their way back to each other again.

For a moment he was silent, seemingly processing her admission, before she felt him swallow slightly, his voice thick.

"You're never going to forget me, Jane," he promised quietly, "Or any of the team, either. We're always going to be with you."

When she didn't– couldn't– reply, he pressed his lips to her hair, his hands rubbing soothingly over her back.

"Tell me about us, Jane. Show yourself you remember," he prompted gently, then nuzzled slightly at her temple, a hint of a smile entering his voice. "Tell me about our first kiss."

Closing her eyes, she breathed him in, letting herself remember. Letting herself believe it was all still there, still a part of her. Just like _he_ was a part of her.

"It was because of David," she murmured finally, and felt him shift slightly in surprise and confusion. Holding him a little tighter– though there wasn't even the slightest chance of him going anywhere– she pressed on, surrounding herself with the memory.

"After we caught David's killer, Patterson came to me in the locker room. She told me that it hadn't changed anything for her, that she didn't feel any better. That even with his killer caught, he was still gone, and she would do anything to be able to rewind time and live those last weeks over again, to spend them with the man she loved instead of keeping him at a distance."

Drawing in a slow breath, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his before she spoke again.

"I just… I didn't want to keep you at a safe distance anymore. I didn't want to regret not being with you while I could. And then I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and that dumbstruck way you smiled at me just made me fall for you all the more."

She felt him huff a tiny chuckle at that, a smile spreading over her own lips. "Those couple of minutes were my favourite new memory. And all I could think about was when we'd get to make the next."

Her smile fading, Jane closed her eyes for a moment. "And then Carter happened, and Oscar, and my past just became too much and I had to push you away again. But at least for that one brief moment, I'd had you. I'd had _us_."

"You've always had me, Jane," he assured her immediately, his fingers gently untangling from hers to cup her face, tilting her chin up until their eyes met, an unshakeable certainty in his gaze. "And you always will. I'm not going anywhere."

Holding his gaze, she again felt tears prickling at the back of her eyes, but for an entirely different reason than just minutes ago.

"I love you, Kurt," she whispered unevenly, the words still making her heart race every time she said them aloud, the butterflies already stirring in her stomach in anticipation of his reply.

"I love you too, Jane," he murmured softly, letting his forehead lower to rest against hers, the two of them simply breathing together for a long moment.

Then, drawing back a little to meet her gaze, he tilted his head slightly, his voice low. "But you know, Jane, as much as I love our first kiss, there's another kiss I can't stop thinking about."

Eyebrows drawing together slightly, she searched his gaze, seeing both the tenderness and hint of mischief reflected there.

"Which?"

"This one," he answered, a brief grin curving his lips before he leaned in and pressed them to hers, her own fleeting smile immediately giving way as she eagerly parted her lips for his, her hands sliding up his chest to wrap her arms around his neck, her body automatically shifting to give them a better angle.

Pulling her closer against him, he deepened the kiss, his hands roaming across her skin– simultaneously soothing her and driving her crazy in the way that only he could, reminding her without words that she could simply never forget him, because he was _hers_, completely and permanently, just as she was his.

And then suddenly his arm wrapped around her back and he rolled them both with disturbing ease, his lips pressing tenderly against her chin and jaw before travelling steadily downward in a trail of hot kisses that stole her breath, her body reflexively arching against his.

And within a matter of minutes, he made her forget all about her dream.

#########

* * *

_Ah, the good old 'it was only a dream' lol. In my defence, the exact prompt was "Jane is having a nightmare about being zipped again and forgetting Kurt, but he is there for her this time - set in a future when jeller is fluffy and happy." So that's exactly what we got lol._

_Thanks for reading!_


	11. The Park

_Another short one this week, sorry! Set sometime in early S2, in the park where Jane was supposed to meet Weller in S1 but got sidetracked by stupid Oscar._

_Enjoy x_

* * *

#########

She knew he was there.

Even before his weight settled at the other end of the bench, she felt him; felt the weight of his gaze, her body humming with the subtle awareness that she only had for him.

She knew he was there– and yet when he finally approached, she still wasn't prepared.

Eyes down, she plucked nervously at the end of her sleeve, trying to keep the waver from her voice, her words barely more than a whisper.

"I can go, if you want."

He didn't answer; just sat there silently for so long that she finally gave in to the need to look at him, her eyes hungrily drinking him in as he simply continued to stare straight ahead, his expression unreadable.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"What are you doing here, Jane?"

Immediately, her gaze dropped back to her hands, her shoulders tensing. But she'd already lied to him so many times in the past; she wouldn't do it again.

"I… just like to come here sometimes," she murmured, then cleared her throat slightly, her voice emerging just a little stronger, a little more steady. "To look at the view. To imagine… to imagine what it would have been like if I'd met you here that night. How things would have been different."

After a long moment, he gave a slow nod, his throat working as he swallowed. But still, he said nothing– though really, she hadn't expected him to.

Instead, they simply stared out over the water in silence, alone but somehow together, united at least in the smallest sense.

When at last the sun had risen, Weller stood, his eyes never having even so much as glanced in her direction.

And then, without a single word, he walked away.

Just over an hour later, she arrived at the office, immediately stepping into the locker room to hang up her coat and warm her hands, her skin still chilled from the cool morning air of the park.

Then, after just a few brief minutes, she returned to the near-empty bullpen– only to find her coffee mug already sitting on her desk, steaming gently.

And for the first time in over four months, Jane smiled.

#########

* * *

_Angsty with a hopeful ending is at least a little better than just plain angsty, right?_

_Thanks for reading!_


	12. Drunken Confessions

_Another short one, based on the prompt 'Drunken Confessions'. Set sometime in early S2._

_Enjoy x_

* * *

When the door opened, she knew it would be him.

Gripping the bottle tighter in numb fingers, Jane curled further in on herself, the cool metal of her locker pressing against her spine.

"Jane?" she heard him call quietly, barely a moment before he rounded the corner of the lockers, brow instantly furrowing as he saw her sitting on the floor.

"Jane, what are you doing?" he questioned gruffly, staring down at her through narrowed eyes. "Your detail called. They said you've been in here for hours."

"They didn't need to call you," she muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. "I told them I was fine."

"Well then why–" he began, but abruptly cut short as he finally moved close enough to see the bottle cradled against her chest. "Is that whiskey?"

"Bourbon, actually," she answered sardonically, and he stepped closer, the frown evident in his voice.

"Is this about what happened with the case today?"

Shuddering slightly, Jane clenched her eyes shut. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Jane–"

"Weller. _Please_."

After a moment, she heard him sigh softly.

"Alright, Jane," he conceded, then paused. "But why not just go home and drink in peace? Why stay here?"

Eyes on her hands, Jane gave a tiny huff, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I wanted to be here."

"Why?"

Fidgeting, she mumbled a reply, and he crouched before her.

"What?"

Closing her eyes once more, she deliberately blocked out the scent of his cologne, the scent that lived in her memories and haunted her dreams. Throat burning, she swallowed hard, her whispered truth resonating in the air between them.

"It's the last place I felt happy."

For a moment, she didn't think he even breathed; she knew she didn't, couldn't. Then, he rocked back on his heels and rose swiftly to his feet, putting space between them.

And then he simply turned and walked away, just as he'd done so many times in the two months since she'd returned to the FBI, just as she had known he would from the very moment he'd stepped through the door.

Except this time, he paused, looking back at her from the doorway, his voice quiet, pained.

"Me too."

Before his words had even fully sunk in, he was gone– and just like that, she was alone. Again.

Her detail didn't bother her for the rest of the night.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	13. Walls Unscathed

_Well, here we go, the last of the updates. (For now, at least; we'll see about the future). Since I only had two very short ones left, I decided to post them both here together. The first, "Walls", was in response to this prompt: "That night she learned how to build walls and he rebuilt his." (Regarding the events of the S1 finale)_

_Enjoy the angst haha_

* * *

#########

She was no stranger to walls.

She'd spent as long as she could remember— a span of mere months, rather than her thirty-ish years— being closed off, confined, existing within the boundaries that had been assigned to her. _Imposed_ upon her.

From the claustrophobic embrace of the bag to the stark white of the interrogation room, from the peeling wallpaper of the safehouse to the rough cinderblock of her new prison, it was always the same; her on one side, everyone else on the other.

It was true that some of the isolation was self-inflicted; she'd always been guarded, a little afraid to trust, but that was simply a byproduct of her reality, a necessary form of self-protection. And yet despite all of that, she'd craved connection, craved _him_.

So she had let herself be vulnerable, had let him in close, finally trusting him with her heart as well as her life.

And then he had crushed it, just as she had crushed his; the two of them imploding with a violence that neither would ever recover from, that night leaving them both with scars that would never fade.

That night, bruised and battered and heartbroken, Jane learned how to build walls of her own— and then had sealed herself behind them, determined never to leave her heart unprotected ever again.

Weller, however, didn't need to learn.

He'd lived nearly his entire life behind walls, had learned early on— at age ten, to be exact— that closeness was the key to destruction. Taylor, his father, his mother, Sarah; they'd been everything to him, and yet one by one they had been stripped away from him, tearing away parts of him until only Sarah remained.

Sarah was the only one who understood; the only one he trusted. And then Sawyer came along, and Weller existed almost solely within their small circle of three, his life broadened by a handful of friends and the occasional relationship, but none ever getting close enough to truly matter.

Until Jane, who walked right through all his defenses like her very being was the key he'd never known existed. Jane, who immediately took up residence in his inner circle and showed no sign of ever leaving.

And he'd never wanted her to; instead, he'd simply handed over his long-protected heart, surrendering himself to her without a single doubt or regret.

Until that night when she had all but destroyed him, tearing him apart from the inside until everything that he'd been had crumbled, leaving nothing behind but rubble and dust.

Once she was gone— leaving his life as abruptly as she'd entered it— he'd made himself a promise, swearing that he would never let himself be vulnerable ever again, would never give anyone else the chance to further break his damaged heart.

Then, drawing his anger around him like armor, he slowly gathered the pieces of his shattered defenses, and began to rebuild.

After all, he was no stranger to walls.

#########

* * *

_Next is "Unscathed", a teeny drabble written after the Jeller fight in 2x01._

* * *

#########

"Hey, you alright?"

Coming to stand beside Weller, Reade looked him over, then followed his gaze to the nearby security vehicle that a cuffed Jane was currently being loaded into, her movements stiff and head bowed. Reaching out, he briefly clasped a hand around Weller's shoulder, his voice softening.

"Hey, you did good, Kurt. Hell, I wouldn't have bet on any of us coming out on top when going one-on-one with Jane, but you did."

Arms folded and eyes on the security van, Weller spoke flatly. "She held back."

"What?"

Turning to Reade, he uncrossed his arms and spread them wide, his eyes hard. "Do you see any serious injuries? Any broken bones? She had a dozen chances to completely take me out, but she didn't. It was like she was just fending me off until she had an opportunity to escape."

Reade's eyebrows went high. "You think she didn't want to hurt you?"

"I don't know," Weller answered heavily, his arms dropping to his sides as he turned back to stare at the vehicle that held Jane, his expression grim.

"I don't know anything anymore."

#########

* * *

_Well, like I said, that's all for now..._

_Thanks for reading, guys x_


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